


Lazarus

by amcw177



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Disassociation, Gen, Loss of Limbs, Minor Character Death, Violence, and possibly many more mental troubles that I can't name, angst times 10, this boy is not all right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcw177/pseuds/amcw177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Galra didn't think he'd survive their experiments, but Shiro was nothing if not stubborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Branch's](http://branch-and-root.tumblr.com/) prompt on Tumblr: Shiro + resilience
> 
> My take on how Shiro got his artificial arm and the fallout from it.
> 
> Title inspired by the song 'Blood On My Name' by The Brothers Bright.  
> Interesting tidbit: According to the Gospel of John Lazarus of Bethany was raised from the dead by Jesus four days after his death. I'm not religious but I liked the analogy. Except for, you know, death and rigor mortis and all that shit. Also, the song is really good. Give it a listen if you have time.
> 
> Many thanks to [lemontongues](http://lemontongues.tumblr.com/) and [loadthebases](https://loadthebases.tumblr.com/)/doomcake for their beta-ing efforts and their valuable input.

Shiro lost his arm in a fight against a creature with a big head and sharp teeth; several rows of them, actually. Bone shattered as it bit down, flesh tore, and Shiro blacked out. When he opened his eyes again he had buried his spear in the creature’s neck and the crowd roared, not that it mattered to Shiro. He was gaping at the bleeding stump that was left of his arm, unable to comprehend what had just happened. It felt like a nightmare at first -- no pain, no sound, just horrifying images flashing before his eyes. Shiro was sure he was going to wake up at any minute, but he didn’t. His mind just wouldn’t shut down; even as they pulled him from the arena, leaving a trail of blood behind. The pain snuck in through his muddied senses and dragged reality with it like an ugly, flea-infested hellhound. It sunk its teeth into Shiro’s mind and didn’t let go for a very, very long time.

\---

The druids were not kind when they gave Shiro a new arm. They weren’t gentle and they certainly didn’t do it out of a sense of responsibility. They simply wanted to know what this puny human would do with their technology. They wanted to see how far they could push such a frail-looking creature. If it didn’t survive the procedure, well then, that was a question answered as well.

Shiro was awake through all of it. He felt the eerie tendrils of corrupted quintessence dig into his flesh and connect with his life force. Metal and wires followed, conjoining broken bones and nerves. He screamed. He screamed for hours, days, a lifetime. He screamed until his voice became just white noise even to his own ears.

But not once did he wish to die.

Each time his mind wandered down that path he shook it with both hands and yelled, _’Not yet! You have people relying on you! You must get through this. You will make it through this.’_ And when foreign voices started whispering to him that he should stop caring for others, that he was meant for bigger things, he told them to shut up.

He woke up in his cell with something cradling his arm. He didn’t remember falling asleep and when he turned his head he couldn’t see his hand. He saw _a_ hand, but it wasn’t his. It was silver and black, glinting against the dim light in his cell. It connected to an arm, equally foreign; just above the elbow was a stark line where the smooth surface stopped and the scars began.

Shiro blinked in confusion. He tried to bat the ugly thing away, hoping to reveal his _real_ arm underneath. He dug his nails into the seam between his skin and the- whatever it was. It wasn’t cold like metal, but it was relentless like concrete. He grunted from the effort of trying to tear this damned thing off. Something inside him was shrieking, ferocious, angry, and _dangerous_. It wasn’t him.

He slammed his arm against the wall in an attempt to shatter that infernal limb, but all it did was leave a visible dent in the panel. The thing inside his head laughed, vile and threatening.

_’We are one’_ , it said. _’You can’t get rid of me. I am you.’_

“No!” Shiro shouted, over and over again, as he threw himself against the wall. The arm twitched, moving its fingers without Shiro’s consent. It punched right through the wall panels as if they were made of butter and Shiro could do nothing but watch in dismay. The torn wall panel toppled to the floor in front of him.

_’This is what I can do’_ , the voice said. _’This is what I am capable of and more. Do you want more?’_

Shiro shook his head fervently.

_’I can be useful’_ , the voice suggested.

Shiro backed away from the wall. “I don’t want you!”

_’You don’t want me?’_ , the voice chuckled. _’But I have always been here. You can’t run away from yourself.’_

“You are _not_ part of me!” Shiro screamed at the darkness, but at the same time he knew the voice was right. He had tried to be good, had tried to do what was right, and yet… Where were his crewmates? His friends? He didn’t even know if they were still alive.

_’I am the strength you’ve been missing. You won’t survive without me. And you have to survive, don’t you? For your friends.’_

Shiro keeled over, resting all his weight on his good arm. He didn’t trust that thing to support him. It was evil and treacherous. He didn’t want it. He didn’t _need it_. He was going to get through this by himself. He couldn’t give in. That was what they wanted.

“I’m strong enough,” Shiro whispered in the dark and rammed his head against the wall.

\---

The next time Shiro woke up the voice wasn’t gone, but it was waiting. He could sense it curled up in a corner of his mind, _lurking_. It was biding its time.

Shiro groaned when he sat up against the wall and everything started spinning. Somebody had bandaged his head. Maybe that was why the voice was quiet; it was sick and puking its metaphorical guts out.

Shiro sneered. _Good._

\---

_’You need me to get through this’_

The voice was back with full force, pleading. Shiro was standing in front of the gate to the arena. He could hear the roar of yet another huge beast that the Galra leaders were pitting him against. The voice was not thrilled at the prospect.

“I’m fine without you, thanks,” Shiro said, causing the foot soldier who operated the gate to give him a funny look.

_’You’ll die.’_

The gate was lifted, revealing an enormous creature with no less than six arms and two heads. Shiro tightened the grip of his human hand on his ax. “I’ll be fine.”

\---

Shiro won fight after fight, all while the voice in his mind was hissing and thriving. It wasn’t easy. He tried to use his right arm merely for support, which drove the voice mad with anger. Every night it screeched inside his head like a caged animal, the fingers of his artificial arm balling into a fist. Sometimes it felt like the voice was trying to punch him - which was pretty amusing considering that he would be punching himself, basically.

 _’One day you’ll meet an opponent that you can’t beat without me,’_ the voice snarled, bitter and malicious.

“Probably,” Shiro replied, studying the shadows on the opposite wall. “When that time comes I’ll make sure they bury you several galaxies away from me.”

_’You are mad’_ , the voice stated. As an afterthought, it added, _’I like that.’_

\---

In a way, Shiro had always figured it was inevitable. The Galra were bound to get tired of seeing him win against all odds. Their solution turned out to be throwing a couple of slaves in the arena with him. They made easy prey - four of them didn’t even know which way to point their weapons.

 _’Are you sure you don’t need my help?’_ The voice asked, gleeful, just as Shiro was pressed up against one of the massive pillars in the arena. He’d managed to drag two fellow combatants to safety, but the others were getting cornered by two beasts at least three times their sizes.

Shiro peered around the pillar. His weapon had been knocked out of his hand earlier. It lay too close to his opponents’ feet to fetch it and bring it up in time to avoid a deadly hit. The voice poked his mind like a petulant child.

_’Use me. I was made for this.’_

“No!” Shiro hissed. But the voice had a point. He wanted- no, he _needed_ to save these lives. He didn’t think himself a hero, but he knew he was the only one in this arena who had any inkling of how to fight these monsters.

_’Come on’_ , the voice begged. _’I’ll show you a neat trick.’_

“I don’t want to-,” Shiro froze. His mechanical arm tickled. Well, the nerves in the human _stump_ of his arm tickled, to be exact. And then it stopped, and it hurt instead. He fell to his knees, clutching that cursed arm to his chest, willing it to stop.

_’Don’t fight it. I can be good to you. I can get you out of this.’_

“Stop it!” Shiro yelled, causing the two fellow slaves to back away from him. He only saw them out of the corner of his eye, but one was about to step into the line of fire. “No!” Shiro gasped, reaching out in a vain attempt to stop them. “Don’t go any further!”

But it was too late. A laser blast hit one of them in the head and Shiro watched in horror as the body went limp and slumped to the ground.

_’I could have prevented that.’_

“Shut up!” Shiro roared. He leapt and grabbed a hold of the second creature to pull it back behind the pillar.

_’I can save them’_ , the voice kept nagging. _’I can save them all.’_

Shiro blinked through a veil of tears, sobbing. “Shut up.”

_’I’ll make you a deal’_ , the voice continued. _’Let me show you what I can do. And if you don’t like it I’ll stop. You’ll be free to die in whichever horrible way you prefer.’_

Shiro frowned. “You’ll just… leave me alone?”

_’Sure. I will never bother you again.’_

It was too good to be true. That thing wasn’t going to offer anything without expecting something in return.

“What if I do-,” Shiro hesitated, “-like it?”

_’You’ll see,’_ the voice replied. It sounded like someone who was grinning.

Shiro was pretty sure it was a bad idea to agree to anything that thing suggested, but his choices were limited. Their opponents were advancing and they were not prone to showing mercy. Shiro glanced at the shivering being next to him. It had big, black eyes, scrawny legs and even thinner arms.

“What’s your name?” Shiro suddenly found himself asking.

The little creature blinked. “U-Umptar.”

Shiro smiled, and finally let go of his robotic arm - and everything else. The voice laughed, loud and triumphant, but at least the pain stopped. Whatever that thing was, it unfurled like a sleeping dragon that a careless knight had woken. It extended its ghostly fingers into parts of Shiro’s mind that he hadn’t even known were there.

When Shiro looked at his arm it was glowing; it was shining such a bright purple color that Shiro had to squint his eyes. He tentatively flexed the fingers of his artificial arm. They responded perfectly.

_’See? That’s better, isn’t it?’_

A cruel smile spread on Shiro’s lips. He could feel the warped quintessence that had been trapped in his arm spreading through his body, resonating with his own. Was that what it was like to feel indestructible?

He ran his hand through the pillar. Umptar yelped and backed up a few steps, his face a mixture of terror and awe. Rock grumbled against rock as the pillar slowly tumbled over in a cloud of dust.

“Well, Umptar, let’s see what this thing can do, shall we?” Shiro said and charged.

\---

They called him ‘The Champion’ after that. No one stood a chance against him. The beasts got bigger, meaner, equipped with ever more technologically advanced weapons, but nothing could stop him.

The voice was like a low hum in the back of his mind. It didn’t speak anymore, but it was always there. Shiro couldn’t tell whether it was waiting for something or if he’d finally given it what it wanted. He didn’t care either way; this was his chance to get out of here somehow.

It was true, the Galra had turned him into a weapon, but it was still him behind the trigger. If he could use that arm against an opponent in the arena, perhaps he could use it to find a way off this damned ship.

Shiro had lost count of the fights, but he was determined to win them all if that meant he had a chance of seeing his friends again. The Galra were surprisingly generous to prisoners willing to cooperate and even more so if they were a champion of the arena. They had given him a cell with an actual view (not that there was much to see besides space and a hell of a lot of other Galra ships), and even a bed with a blanket. The druids regularly checked up on him and mended his wounds.

He was good, but he wasn’t infallible and more often than not an opponent landed a surprise hit. Shiro didn’t mind. The pain reminded him that he was still human, even if he heard an eerie little chuckle every time the thought crossed his mind.

So he stood his ground. He continued to fight, bruised and bleeding, but not broken.

“Why do you keep doing this?” A Galra once asked. It wasn’t the usual foot soldier who operated the gate, but an officer.

He seemed genuinely interested in Shiro’s motivation, so Shiro indulged him. “Because I’ve got people waiting for me.”

The officer’s ears drooped a little. He remained silent for a while as if lost in thought.

“But you know you are never getting out of here,” he said eventually.

Shiro activated his arm, welcoming the electric hum like the surf of the ocean engulfing him. He smirked. “Watch me.”

\---

Shiro woke up with a start. The voice in his head was screaming. It was writhing inside his mind as if in agony. For what seemed like hours Shiro couldn’t make out any words, just incoherent shrieking, but then he thought he heard a name:

_Voltron._

“What the hell’s a Voltron?” Shiro asked no one in particular. The voice didn’t answer, but it was clear that whatever it was, the voice was not happy about it.

As the wailing continued, Shiro began to feel an air of urgency. That Voltron thing was important. Much more important than his friends - a thought that both surprised and scared him. How could anything be more important than his crewmates? Everything he’d done up til now had been for them.

He felt like his head might explode when a second set of voices started whispering, _’Voltron. Find Voltron,’_ over and over like a broken record. It set the nerve-endings in Shiro’s arm on fire. The choir of whispers was warring with the voice he’d come to know so well, causing his arm to activate and deactivate at random.

Shiro desperately forced himself to focus on something. He stared at the stars beyond the small window. He couldn’t pinpoint Earth, but when he thought of it, the whispers increased in volume, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

He needed to get out of here; maybe he could convince the guards to let him train for a bit. He stumbled towards the cell door, banging on it to get someone’s attention.

There was no one there.

That was odd. Usually, there were at least two guards stationed outside his door, but he couldn’t see any of them. Shiro took a step back, eyeing the door with growing suspicion. It clicked and swung open.

“What the-,” Shiro flattened himself against the wall when he saw movement outside.

He waited several minutes before cautiously peeking into the corridor. The guards were right there, only they were on the floor, unconscious. One guard’s arm was positioned to point down the hallway and a Galra device was placed so prominently on his chest Shiro couldn’t help but pick it up. The small monitor flared to life, indicating the way to the landing deck.

_’What are you doing?’_ A familiar voice screamed. There was a panicked edge to it.

Shiro fastened the device to his wrist and nodded to himself. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth; somebody in this godforsaken empire of savages had a conscience. Who would’ve thought?

“Getting out of here,” Shiro replied as he crept along the walls of the corridor.

_’No! You can’t!’_

Shiro smiled grimly. “Watch me.”


End file.
